The Urban Farmhouse

Wednesday, March 27, 2013

So there is this thing going around called The Three Weavers. It's an allegory for sexual and emotional purity written in 1903, meaning it's now in the public domain, which is very popular among the Dominionist crowd.But after reading it I thought that the story needed tweaking to better represent reality. So I present you with, The Four Weavers.

Once upon a time in days of old there lived three four men who made their living by weaving
cloth for the mantles of others. Their small-but-tidy houses stood side by
side on the pebbled street of a flourishing city and their fortunes had been so
intertwined that whatever took place under the roof of one, happened under the
roofs of all. But though trained in the same art they were as different in
character as four close friends could be.

“I always weave my webs the same length,” Herthold confided
to the other three. “There is no use wasting time measuring each man, when
I know the size which a perfect mantle should be.”

“Don’t you get weary with always weaving the same size? What
if you run out of the proper color of warp or woof? It is much more
convenient just to end the web there.” Insisted Hubert, for it was
well-known that he wove his whims into his fabric and then stretched or cut
afterward to fit whoever would buy.

Hildgardmar and Henry each shook his head sorrowfully and
returned to his work. Carefully and painstakingly, each measured first the
man and then the web by the inches and ells of his carefully marked yardstick. Each
knew the stature of those around them and their reward was their own
satisfaction at the perfection with which each cloak fit the shoulders of the
man for whom it had been made.

In this pattern of similar fortunes, each man took a wife
and later each became the father of a tiny daughter. Thus were born
Hertha, Huberta, Hildegarde and Henrietta.

One evening a short time later, the four friends sat
together under the sparkling stars discussing the future. There was a lull
in the conversation as each father mulled over the mysterious message he’d
received a few days before.

Finally, Herthold spoke up: “Friends, rejoice with me! Wonderful
fortune has befallen me and mine. Perhaps you know that the fairy of all
the weavers was present today for my Hertha’s christening? she left a
beautiful gift beside the cradle: a tiny loom, fashioned of the purest
gold. And a wonderful promise, to boot!”

Even as Herthold spoke, his three friends exchanged knowing
glances, for, you must know, that what had happened under the roof of one had
happened under the roofs of all. The fairy had made her appearance at the
christenings of the four wee maidens, and left beside each cradle a tiny,
golden loom with the same foretelling for each: that a prince would come
to seek her hand.

“Think of it!” Hubert laughed, boisterously. “I,
the father of a queen!”

Herthold added, “It’s a good thing children provide for
their parents in old age. I should have a comfortable retirement.”

The three men fell silent thought, the fairy’s parting words
echoing in the halls of each man’s memory. “One thing is necessary: Your
daughter must weave upon this loom a mantle fit for the prince’s wearing. It
must be ample and fine, cloth of gold and woven in rainbow hues, and of
princely size and shape. Many will come to claim it, for your daughter
will be fair and charming, but if it is woven rightly, it shall be the guide by
which she may measure her suitors. And when the prince comes, it will fit
him in all faultlessness, as the falcon’s feathers fit the falcon. But if
it should not be ample and fine, worthy of royalty, the prince will refuse to
don it and the maiden’s heart will break.”

Herthold sighed heavily. “It is a grievous task to give
a small girl. Mine shall know naught of the loom until she is old enough
to weave with skill and style. I’ll not waste my time with a child who
will be constantly distracted by childish fancies. Until then, I’ll lock
it away where she cannot destroy such good fortune with her folly.”

“What an old worrywart you are!” Hubert scoffed. “It
is not as if the fairy has asked her to weave straw into gold. Besides, I
am sure it is all a joke—you saw the loom. It could never make a mantle
large enough to cover a man’s head, much less his shoulders. It is only a
toy. Besides, what is written is written and I can’t change the outcome of
fate. I have good fortune coming and I plan on celebrating!”

Hildegardmar shook his head. “Upon the correct weaving
of this mantle lies my precious daughter’s whole future. I must teach her to weave with care and give
her a standard to measure by.”

“But what if my daughter is not fond of the prince?” Henry wondered. “What if he is not a good fit for her?”

At this the others laughed.
“What does it matter?” Hubert
said. “She is only a woman after all. She can serve any man.”

The days passed quickly and the girls grew like the summer
wildflowers. One day as they strung daisies together, Huberta said to the
other three, “I have a loom made of solid gold in a little tower off of my
room.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hertha retorted. “A loom of gold
would belong to a princess.”

Undaunted, Huberta continued. “I have one and you do
too. So does Hildegarde and so does Henrietta. A fairy gave them to
the four of us at our christening and said a prince will come to wed us if we
weave a mantle for him.”

“I don’t believe you,” Hertha snapped. “I never heard
of such a loom, and I don’t believe it is true, or else my father would surely
have told me.”

Hildegarde interposed, “If it is true, Huberta, just show us
the loom.”

Silently the four girls stole into the weaver’s house and
through Huberta’s room until they stood beside a doorway, standing half-open.
Entering the room they saw, against the wall, a small loom of pure gold that
had grown with Huberta’s growth and fit her as if made only for her. The
golden warp was the fairy’s gift, but the thread of the shuttle was of her own
spinning—from the airy dreams of a maiden’s fancy. Huberta ran her fingers
over the smooth gold, and motioned to the beginning of a mantle. “See? Already
I have begun.” She seized the shuttle as she spoke and crossed the threads
of a rosy-daydream with the golden warp.

Hertha and Hildegarde watched in silent envy, their eyes
following the glowing threads as they crossed in and out of the beautiful
pattern, bounding and leaping like summer clouds. But soon they were drawn to a new wonder: in
front of the loom so as to reflect through the window, hung an exquisite mirror
in which the shadows of the world passed by. As they watched a
curly-headed shepherd lad passed by in the street, his knobby staff held aloft
like a scepter.

“See that shepherd lad?” Huberta laughed. “Doesn’t
he look a prince with his head held high and his crook in his hand like a
scepter? Are you surprised that I am at my loom both sunrise and sunset to
see him passing by?”

Hertha shook her head and pointed. “That long-haired
page is more my style. He looks almost noble dressed in velvet with a
feathered cap! I wonder why my father has said nothing to me of the
angel’s marvelous gift. I too, should be at my loom and weaving. I’m
as old as you are!”

Hildegarde clapped her hands. “I too!”

“I don't know.”
Henrieta said. "There are other things to do."

Hertha laughed. "Then you are no true maiden. A true maiden would only care about weaving. Are you trying to be a boy?" At this the others laughed as well. "I should be weaving." She said again.

Hertha was not long in reaching her home, and sought her
father as he busily weaved the same pattern he always used. Timidly she
crept to his side and stood with downcast eyes until he paused. “Father,
where is my loom? Huberta has already begun and I, too, would like to be
weaving for my prince.”

Herthold leaped from his stool, sending the shuttle clattering. “Hertha,
listen to me! Never again must you listen to such idle fairy tales. When
you are grown, I will call you and then I will teach you the art of weaving,
but not a moment sooner. I am ashamed that my daughter would indulge in
such foolish fantasies.” He turned stormily back to his weaving, leaving a
confused Hertha to creep away to her room, where she threw herself on her bed
and wept violently. “My father must not love me,” she whimpered into her
blankets. “But someday my prince will.” Suddenly she stood and walked
resolutely to the wall, feeling behind a rich tapestry that adorned it until
her fingers closed around the doorknob of a secret room. Inside she found a golden loom filled with
shining thread and a mirror in which the shadows of the world passed by. Smiling
through her tears, Hertha took hold of the shuttle to send the first woof
thread shimmering through the warp, and as she did so the long-haired page
hurried past, clutching his velvet cap. “How like a prince he is! My
father is a tyrant to forbid me such a simple pleasure as weaving. How can
it harm me?”

At the same time, little Hildegarde stood before her father
patiently measured a web by the silver yardstick he kept near him. “Is it
true, dear father, what Huberta says about our looms? After I saw her
loom, I pushed back the bolt to an inner room from mine and there I found such
a loom as hers, and a fascinating mirror. I want badly begin my mantle,
but I crave your permission and your advice, since you are a more experienced
weaver than I.”

Hildegarde’s father laid down his yardstick and placed his
hands on his small daughter’s shoulders. Smiling tenderly he answered, “I
have often looked forward to this day, my little one, although I did not think
you would come so soon with your questions. It’s true. On the right
weaving of this web depends the happiness of you as well as your descendents. It’s
a dangerous gift the fairy left you, for that mirror will tempt you to weave to
fit the shifting shadows. But listen to your father who has never yet
deceived you: keep always by your side this silver yardstick for it marks
the inches and ells to which the stature of a prince must measure. Not
until the web cloth fully equals it can it be safely taken from the loom. You are young and the loom small, but it is a
marvelous gift that lengthens with your growth until you can hold it up against
the yardstick and find that it measures to the last inch the size demanded by a
prince’s noble stature. You will often be dazzled by the mirror’s sights,
and youths will come to you begging, ‘Give me the royal mantle, Hildegarde–I am
your prince.’ Do not be persuaded to cut it loose and give it him. Weave
patiently until you have fashioned a web that will fit your prince faultlessly.”

With a quick impulse, Hildegarde threw her arms around her
father’s neck. Then Hildegardmar took up the yardstick in one hand and his
daughter by the other and led her into the inner chamber where her golden loom
awaited. He hung the sterling yardstick next to the tempting mirror, laid
her hands on the shuttle and left her with his blessing, to weave.

Henrietta slowly walked home, considering what she had
seen. When she reached home she too
addressed her father, and told him of the tidings of the day. “Do I have a loom as well, father?” She asked.

“Yes, you do. It is
through here, your mother and I have kept it until the day you would ask me of
it.” He took her to a small room,
neither hidden nor locked, where the loom waited, patiently. “Are you wanting to learn to weave?”

Henrietta considered, but then shook her head. “No, I do not believe I am ready yet. But father, how will I know what size to make
the mantle when I am ready?”

“Come here.” Henry
led his daughter to his workbench where he produced a copper yardstick, one of
the ones he used to tailor a mantle to each man, for each man is different. “Take this yardstick and when you see a measurement
in person that would make you happy in a partner then write it on here. When you have all the measurements then you
will be able to weave a mantle to fit the person who will fit you best.”

With the copper yardstick in hand Henrietta put on her cloak
and went to the market, the first of many trips she would make, first with her
parents and then, when she was older, to the school there. All the while she met many people of all
shapes and sizes, and she took as many measurements as she could. When one seemed like it would best suit she
marked it on her yardstick, and so, overtime, she began to see what sort of
partner would fit her best.

The Maidens grew quickly.
Hertha grew tall and lovely, treading the house with the airy grace of
youth, yet fearing her father’s disapproval she fled more and more often to the
inner chamber where she worked in secret, hoping for a glimpse of “her” page. She
called him a prince in her thoughts and was sure that, clothed in the mantle
she wove he would soon appear as royal as she perceived him.

Huberta laughed brazenly about her web and the prince she
hoped to capture with it. Her father often teased her while she sat by him at
his weaving. “Is that your prince?” But he never went with her into
the inner room so he never knew that she cut the strands of one year’s weaving
and gave the cloak to the curly-headed shepherd lad. But Huberta saw other
figures in her mirror which pleased her fickle fancy and she began another web.

Years passed by, Huberta scattering favors to whoever would
call her “darling” and Hertha, faithful to the page. Hildegarde worked
carefully under her father’s guidance, weaving intricate patterns of rose and
gold. One day a face flashed across her mirror, so noble and earnest that
she started back, her heart fluttering in her bosom. “Father! Surely
it’s him!”

“My daughter,” old Hildgarmar said gently. “He only
measures as an ordinary man. You are still young. Weave on and you
shall fashion a royal web. This is not the one for you.”

Obediently Hildegarde went back to her weaving, and watched
in silence as the man disappeared from her mirror. Again time swept over
the figures of the weaving maidens, and spring came bringing restlessness to
Hildegarde’s heart. The face that crossed her mirror this time was bold
and brave, decked with plumes and glittering with a silver helmet. She knew how lovely her mantle would look
spread across his broad, mail-clad shoulders and hastened to her father to
plead his blessing. “Father, a knight in shining armor has come to me and
asked me for the mantle. Measured by your yardstick it would fit him
faultlessly.”

Hildgardemar followed his daughter into the inner room and
stood for a long time looking into the mirror at the shining stranger. Then
he held up the yardstick and shook his head.“It fits only because you are not
yet ready to wed a prince. See? Your mantle reaches only to the size
of a knight. A knight may seem noble, my daughter, but he lacks a
handbreadth of full stature and you must weave that handbreadth for the wearing
of a prince.”

Tears sprang to Hildegarde’s eyes. “But father, suppose
the prince should never come? Suppose I
should give up the one destined for me and be left forever to weave in
solitude?”

Tenderly, Hildgardmar took his daughter in his arms. “I
am an old man, Hildegarde, knowing far more of the world than you, my daughter. Better
to weave forever, than to settle for a man who does not measure up. Have
patience just a little longer. In another year, think of the mantle you
will have made!”

With a bowed head Hildegarde returned to her work. As
the tempting images rose before her in the mirror, she turned her eyes to the
yardstick and wove on.

Meanwhile Henrietta had yet to even begin her weaving. She spent her days in the village, learning
at the school and helping her mother in the family shop. “Don’t you wish to begin weaving your mantle?” Her father asked her one day.

“Not yet, father.”
She said quietly. “There are
still many things to learn and do, and more measurements to take.”

But one day she woke and she knew that her time had
come. Without a look in the mirror Henrietta
settled at her loom and began to weave.
She did not weave short lengths to give to those who called her ‘darling’,
for while many had tried she had learned from watching the maidens in the
market that such promises would come and go like the winds of the spring, never
to be relied upon. There was no page
lingering in her mirror, the love and trust of her parents had been enough, she
had never had a need to turn to another to give her the love and acceptance all
maidens craved. And she did not weave
some ideal, rose gold beauty, based upon a set measurement sent by men from far
away with no regard for how people truly measured. No, she wove a cloth based
upon her own yardstick, and kept her own counsel.

At last it came to pass when the maidens had all four grown
into tall and beautiful women that a prince came riding into the village and,
stopping before the house of Hubert, asked him for the hand of his daughter.
With a bow and a flourish, Hubert vanished to seek her in the garden. “Well,
Huberta, your prince has finally come. Run and get your royal mantle. It
must be splendid after weaving all these years!” When she returned with a
small, shimmering cloth over one arm, Hubert was startled by its pigmy size. “Is
this a jest?”

Hanging her head, Huberta answered, “I—I have already given
a few mantles away. I have no more of
the golden thread the fairy left me.”

Hubert rubbed his chin, his brow knit in thought. “Surely
it is no worse than what many another has done. No doubt you were only
passing time and meant nothing serious by your favors. Besides, it’s still
a mantle. Only an unreasonable prince would expect a beautiful girl to
wait forever for him.”

Together Hubert and his daughter bore the small out to where
the prince stood waiting. When he saw
them approaching, he bounded eagerly forward to receive from the maiden’s hand
his cloak, but his face fell as she held it up before him. He gazed deeply
into Huberta’s beautiful eyes and sadly shook his head. Turning his back
on her, he mounted his horse and rode from that house forever. The dwarf
mantle fell from the shocked Huberta’s hands and she covered her face and sank
to her knees and wept until her heart broke.

The same day a prince approached the house of Herthold and
dismounted. Entering, he found Herthold studiously at work, and requested
his daughter’s hand in marriage. Herthold
rose abruptly and answered, “Have you come at last? Excellent. My
daughter is as rare a jewel as you could desire. Wait one moment.” He
walked briskly to the doorway leading to the garden and called for his
daughter. When she did not answer, he ascended the stairs toward her room
and met her halfway, her face downcast and blushing. “Your prince has
come!” Herthold explained, seizing her hand and leading his unwilling daughter
into the room from which she’d just come. “We must make haste!” But
even as he said this his eye fell on the loom, standing empty by the far wall. “What
is the meaning of this?”

Defiantly, Hertha raised her head. “If you mean to
teach me to weave, you’re too late. Since you scorned me as foolish I wove
in secret, and when my prince came long ago, I gave him the mantle. Look! See
him?”

The astonished Herthold turned his eyes from the loom to the
window, where he saw the long-haired page standing eagerly, clothed in the
mantle which Hertha had woven for him. In
a rage, Herthold tore the mantle from the lad’s shoulders and dragged his
daughter downstairs. But the prince looked contemptuously on the mantle,
the angry father and the resistant daughter. Without a word, he left the
house, mounted his horse and left the town at a gallop. Standing brokenly
in the doorway, Hertha saw her adored page, now stripped of the princely robe
which her fond imagining had woven around him. She saw his unworthy
shoulders against those of the retreating prince and with a cry she flung her
mantle at her father’s feet, screaming in agony as her heart broke. “Fie!”
Her father exclaimed. “You have
brought shame upon this house! Now you
must bear your shame forever!” And with
that he dragged her in and the punishment began.

Next came a gallant prince to the humble abode of
Hildgardemar, and entered the house to seek permission to claim his bride. Hildgardmar
looked long and carefully at the young prince, then nodded to his daughter who
sat by his side. With a pounding heart she dashed up the stairs to her
room and clipped the golden threads that held her now-finished mantle in the
loom. For a brief instant she gazed at herself in the mirror, her eyes
running over the silver yardstick as she held her web before her. “It
measures!” she breathed in a tone of awe. “So perfect!” With the
mantle in her hand she returned to offer her gift to the prince. He knelt
at once so that she could spread it across his shoulders and, glancing shyly
into his face, she observed with wonder that her weaving fit him faultlessly.

The prince took her hand in his and led her outside to his
waiting horse. As her father assisted her to mount behind her prince he
whispered, “Farewell, my daughter. Because
you kept in view the silver yardstick which I gave you, even in childhood,
because not even one inch of the golden thread was squandered on another,
because you waited cheerfully and patiently until your womanly fingers had
woven the best that lay in your womanly heart, may all happiness be yours! Receive
it as your fitting crown!” Then Hildegarde stooped to kiss her father, and
with his blessing crowning her lovely brow, she rode away behind the prince. With
tears in his eyes, Hildgardemar watched, sure that her life would be filled
with joy and love as it had been written.

But before the moon hand turned from dark to full Hildegarde
returned to her father’s home. Her dress
was torn and her eyes were full of pain.
“The mantle does not fit the Prince, Father!" She wailed. "It only fits his armor!"Hildgardemar looked upon her with scorn. "Of course it only fits his armor! That yardstick was made to fit the ideal Prince, by men far away. But you cannot make a standard to fit every man for every man is different. So they made it to fit the armor, knowing that any man who fits the ideal armor must be ideal himself.""But he is evil!” She said. “ He forced me to work as his
servant, while he went to dally with others in the village!" She fell to her knees and wept. "He does not love me and I do not love him.""If the Prince desires you to be his servant then you must submit to him, for he is your Prince now. Do his will and rest assured that someday he will grow to fit that armor. In the meantime be comforted by knowing that everyone in the village will see you as happy and content with your ideal mantle over his ideal armor. They need not ever know the truth of the matter.

Hildegarde threw her apron over her head and ran back to her
prince’s castle, where she lived in misery for the rest of her days for there was no need for him to ever grow to fit his armor, the armos itself was enough to give him all the respect he ever wanted.

Sometime after this the fourth prince arrived at the home of
the fourth maiden. “Just one moment.” Her father said. He went to find his daughter. “A prince is here.” He said.

With a serene smile Henrietta clipped off her mantle and
took it out to the prince. “It’s not
finished!” The prince complained.

“No, for I shall never stop learning and growing and
dreaming dreams.” She replied. “So my mantle will never be finished.”

“You must stop now!”
he insisted. “And finish, for you
must never change.”

Henrietta calmly took the mantle back before the Prince
could put it over his shoulders. “A
Prince you may be, but you are not the one for me.”

The Prince rode away in disgust and told everyone in the
village that she was too educated to marry,

Sometime later another prince came to her door. Again she brought him her mantle. “It has holes!”

“Those are the dreams you cannot fill. No one can, those threads I weave into my own cloth.”

“You are not allowed to have your own cloth. My dreams are all that matters, not yours”

Henrietta calmly took the mantle back before the Prince
could put it over his shoulders. “A
Prince you may be, but you are not the one for me.”

The Prince rode away in disgust and told everyone in the
village that she was too liberated to marry.

A few days after this another Prince arrived at her
door. Once again Henrietta brought out
her mantle. He looked it over. “It will not fit!”

“Then you do not fit the measurements I require.”

“Your measurements!”
He scoffed. “I fit the ideal armor which fits the ideal measurements, that is all that matters.”

Henrietta calmly took the mantle back before the Prince
could put it over his shoulders. “A
Prince you may be, but you are not the one for me.”

This prince also rode away in disgust, and told the village
that she was too prideful to marry.

A few more days passed before another Prince darkened their
door. As he looked over the mantle
Henrietta asked him, “Where is the mantle you made for me?”

“A prince doesn’t make mantles. He does not spend his time cowering in the
dark over a loom watching shadows in a mirror, he goes out and has adventures. Besides, one as
educated, liberated and prideful as yourself does not deserve the mantle of a
Prince.”

Henrietta calmly took the mantle back before the Prince
could put it over his shoulders. “A
Prince you may be, but you are not the one for me.”

This Prince rode off and told everyone that she was immoral
on top of it all.

The next day Henry sighed as he returned from the village. “Here”.
He said to Henrietta, presenting her with a horse. “Because you spent your time learning in the
village school and learning how to make your way in the marketplace rather than
focusing on weaving you now have the knowledge and skill to make your own way
in the world, but the villagers believe you no longer deserve to be a part of
our village. No more Princes from our
land will come to our door. Go now and
find the one who bests fits your mantle.
But keep your mantle close, for it is a treasure that will someday make
the partner you choose into royalty.
When you do, bring that one back here, for we wish to meet the one who
makes our daughter happy at last.”

And with that Henrietta packed up her bags and her mantle,
mounted the horse her father had given her, and rode away. She had many adventures, and wove even more
dreams, but in the end she found someone to fit her mantle, and was happy
evermore.

Sunday, July 29, 2012

Nestled in the picturesque Lake District of northwest England, the Damson Dene Hotel seems, at first glance, like the typical English countryside hotel. But its bedside tables contain a shocking secret. Instead of the traditional bedside Gideon Bible placed at arm’s reach, its forty rooms each contain a copy of E.L. James’ bestselling erotic novel Fifty Shades of Grey.

Jonathan Denby, owner of the hotel, told NBC News he felt that in a secular society, it was “wholly inappropriate” to put a religious book in someone’s bedroom. He confessed the novel, which started life as Twilight fan-fiction, wasn’t his first choice of replacement. In fact, he hasn’t even read it. “I was thinking originally of putting in a book by Ayn Rand — Atlas Shrugged was my first thought,” he said, but “because everybody is reading Fifty Shades of Grey, we thought it would be a hospitable thing to do, to have this available for our guests, especially if some of them were a little bit shy about buying it because of its reputation.”

Fifty Shades of Grey traces the relationship between a business magnate and a young college graduate, featuring explicit depictions of bondage and submissive acts. Since the Damson Dene’s dirty little secret has emerged, the hotel has received dozens of angry emails — not from Britons, but from Americans — demanding that the bibles be restored beside the beds. Writing on his personal blog, Denby revealed that he has been called a “puppet of Satan,” and that several people emailed him “pretending that they were just about to make a booking the Damson Dene, but had changed their mind.”

Emphasis mine. Like what a British innkeeper does is any American's business.

Wednesday, July 25, 2012

They just do. Even when it would be easy to tell a simple version of the truth they lie anyway. The funny thing about it is that they have yet to realize that:

1 - They will be caught
2 - It will be recorded on the internet
3 - Everyone will know.

So not too long ago Dan Cathay, president of Chick-Fil-A, a chain of fast food joints, was quited in the Baptist Press as saying:

Some have opposed the company's support of the traditional family. "Well, guilty as charged," said Cathy when asked about the company's position.

"We are very much supportive of the family -- the biblical definition of the family unit. We are a family-owned business, a family-led business, and we are married to our first wives. We give God thanks for that.

Now everyone who's head hasn't been under a rock for the past few years knows that "the biblical definition of the family unit" means "not gay". Now, honestly, this is not a huge deal anymore. Dan Cathay was going on record as being a member of the Tribe*, a Paulist**, an American Christian, and it's his right to do so. It's also his right to work his beliefs into his private company.

And it is the right of every person out there to not support his business. It's called voting with your dollars. And it is the right of other companies to choose not to do business with his company.

Enter the Jim Henson Company, maker of toys for their kid's meals. On July 20, 2012 The Henson Company decided to cut ties with Chick-fil-a over this issue. From their Facebook page:

The Jim Henson Company has celebrated and embraced diversity and inclusiveness for over fifty years and we have notified Chick-Fil-A that we do not wish to partner with them on any future endeavors. Lisa Henson, our CEO is personally a strong supporter of gay marriage and has directed us to donate the payment we received from Chick-Fil-A to GLAAD. (http://www.glaad.org/)

And that is just as much their right. Fine, great, wonderful.

Up until these signs started appearing in Chick-fil-a stores.

Their fingers are getting stuck in the puppet holes. Really. As of July 19th. Probably the very day that The Henson Company told Chick-Fil-A to stop carrying their stuff since good corporate playerhood demand that you tell everyone before you make the public announcement.

Can't just say "we're not carrying the Muppets anymore". Can't just say "we're out". No, you have to make up a lie so other, weaker-minded members of the tribe don't realize that there's another way of looking at the world out there. They can't handle anyone disagreeing with them at all.

Really, can't we just give them their own country all ready? We'll all be so much happier.

I learned a few things growing up as an evangelical Christian: that abortion is murder; homosexuality, sin; evolution, nonsense; and environmentalism, a farce. I learned to accept these ideas — the “big four” — as part of the package deal of Christianity. In some circles, I learned that my eternal salvation hinged on it. Those who denied them were outsiders, liberals, and legitimate targets for evangelism. If they didn’t change their minds after being “witnessed to,” they became legitimate targets for hell.

Tuesday, July 24, 2012

Charles Pierce has an interesting post up today about the Morrill Act which created the land-grant college system. This is the college system that was intended to give us better farmers and schoolteachers and has given us all so very much more.

On July 2, 1862, President Abraham Lincoln signed into law what was known as the Morrill Act. The new law authorized the creation of what became known as "land-grant colleges," the purpose of which, as described in the Act was: "...without excluding other scientific and classical studies and including military tactic, to teach such branches of learning as are related to agriculture and the mechanic arts, in such manner as the legislatures of the States may respectively prescribe, in order to promote the liberal and practical education of the industrial classes in the several pursuits and professions in life."

If you've ever attended a state college or university because the in-state tuition was actually affordable, then you have this act to thank.

But it's not only that.

From the established land-grant colleges came the cooperative extension services that aided farmers all over the country and the agricultural experimentation centers that produced, among other things, the National Arboretum in Washington, D.C.

So if you've ever taken a class at an extension service, or if you've ever been a farmer or if you've ever eaten food then this act has helped you in some way.

Also, if you've ever participated in 4-H then you've been helped by this act. From Wikipedia:

The foundations of 4-H began around the start of the twentieth century, with the work of several people in different parts of the United States. The focal point of 4-H has been the idea of practical and hands-on learning, which came from the desire to make public school education more connected to rural life. Early programs tied both public and private resources together to benefit rural youth.

During this time, researchers at experiment stations of the land-grant universities and USDA saw that adults in the farming community did not readily accept new agricultural discoveries, but educators found that youth would experiment with these new ideas and then share their experiences and successes with the adults. So rural youth programs became a way to introduce new agriculture technology to the adults.

These universities have helped millions of us live better lives, no?

Of course back then there was opposition:

This heavy reliance upon Article IV led to strong counterattacks.Democratic Senator Clement Clay of Alabama was by far the most eloquent to stand against it. He insisted that the land grants were a "magnificent bribe" to encourage Alabama to "surrender to the federal power her original and reserved right to manage her own domesticand internal affairs." He argued that public lands were never meant to support such arrangements. This was followed witha long, vivid picture of judicious forefathers building limitation afterlimitation into the Constitution concerning the powers of the Federal Government. With the last stroke of his brush, Clay asked if one could believe that such a careful limitation was only a sham, that through deliberate intent or stupidity these great men had provided a means to circumvent their careful limitation of federal power.

(Please remember that since then the Democrats and Republicans have completely flipped their positions on pretty much everything.)

In the end we were only able to pass it because the states that opposed the idea of a national system of universities had already seceded from the Union.

Do I really need to go into the whole Christian Patriarchy thing again?

Sara Robinson wrote a piece recently about how we're all living in PlantationLand now. There's almost too much to quote there, so just go read the whole thing.

David Hackett Fischer, whose Albion’s Seed: Four British Folkways In Americainforms both Lind’s and Woodard’s work, described just how deeply undemocratic the Southern aristocracy was, and still is. He documents how these elites have always feared and opposed universal literacy, public schools and libraries, and a free press. (Lind adds that they have historically been profoundly anti-technology as well, far preferring solutions that involve finding more serfs and throwing them at a problem whenever possible. Why buy a bulldozer when 150 convicts on a chain gang can grade your road instead?) Unlike the Puritan elites, who wore their wealth modestly and dedicated themselves to the common good, Southern elites sank their money into ostentatious homes and clothing and the pursuit of pleasure — including lavish parties, games of fortune, predatory sexual conquests, and blood sports involving ritualized animal abuse spectacles......In the old South, on the other hand, the degree of liberty you enjoyed was a direct function of your God-given place in the social hierarchy. The higher your status, the more authority you had, and the more “liberty” you could exercise — which meant, in practical terms, that you had the right to take more “liberties” with the lives, rights and property of other people. Like an English lord unfettered from the Magna Carta, nobody had the authority to tell a Southern gentleman what to do with resources under his control. In this model, that’s what liberty is. If you don’t have the freedom to rape, beat, torture, kill, enslave, or exploit your underlings (including your wife and children) with impunity — or abuse the land, or enforce rules on others that you will never have to answer to yourself — then you can’t really call yourself a free man.

When a Southern conservative talks about “losing his liberty,” the loss of this absolute domination over the people and property under his control — and, worse, the loss of status and the resulting risk of being held accountable for laws that he was once exempt from — is what he’s really talking about. In this view, freedom is a zero-sum game. Anything that gives more freedom and rights to lower-status people can’t help but put serious limits on the freedom of the upper classes to use those people as they please. It cannot be any other way. So they find Yankee-style rights expansions absolutely intolerable, to the point where they’re willing to fight and die to preserve their divine right to rule.

Kind of fits together, doesn't it. I have the divine right because God says so. And you can't go to college because you might become more and that would take away from me somehow.

Please remember, we've been fighting this beast for 150 years. Either keep fighting or give them the country they want, let them go. Don't given them the whole thing.

Sunday, July 01, 2012

California pastor arrested for child molestationVACAVILLE, Calif. -- A pastor at a Fairfield church was arrested on suspicion of molesting five children, police said.

Authorities took the Rev. Robert "Silas" Ruark, 65, into custody on Thursday at his home in Suisun City after investigating the allegations, The Vacaville Reporter reported ( http://bit.ly/KI3MEa).

He was booked into Solano County Jail. The Fairfield Police Department could not immediately confirm Friday whether he had retained a lawyer.

Clergy at the Orthodox Christian diocese that oversees St. Timothy Orthodox Church contacted police and asked for an investigation, the newspaper said.

The alleged victims now range in age from 20 to 24. Police said they reported being molested when they were as young as 13 and photographed in the nude, some when left alone at the church with the pastor.

Ruark has been a pastor at St. Timothy since he was ordained in 1997. The diocese has told authorities it will cooperate fully.

Dollar is a senior pastor of World Changers Church International in suburban Atlanta, which claims about 30,000 members and has an $18 million sanctuary that resembles a golden-domed spaceship atop a hill.

He built an international religious empire, with broadcasts of his sermons beamed worldwide and speaking engagements in Europe.

A barrel-chested man who favors impeccably tailored pinstripe suits in the pulpit, Dollar preaches the Prosperity Gospel, a message that says God will bless faithful Christians with wealth and debt-free living.

Which has nothing to do with Christians supporting and encouraging child abuse. But it does relate to this.

Matthew 19:24

And again I say unto you, It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.

About Me

I'm a writer, a knitter, a maker of things. I'm a Dominant and the head of my house. I'm a childfree housewife. I'm panromantic, homosexual, cis, femme, and part of the alt-sex community. I'm a recovering ACoN. I'm a gym rat. I prefer to top younger men, but I dislike the term "twink". I'm a Hypothetical Maltheist and a Democratic Socialist. And I'm not hiding anymore.

Project update

If it's not on Ravelry it's here.

Blogging Without Obligation

A few words on why...

To show the world that someone can be a stay-at-home wife, mother and homeschooler and also be secular (even an atheist), feminist and liberal.

To provide a public place to recommend secular homemaking ideas, blogs and media I found on the web.

To be a place to vent about some of the topics, issues and comments I found while reading the Christian homemaker blogosphere.

One thing I have noticed, many if not the majority of Christian bloggers moderate their comments. That is, they delete the comments that disagree with their opinion or their faith. This is a place where I can record my comments to them and not have them deleted out of hand.

This is also a place where you can freely reply. I do not have my comments moderated, post as you will. Just remember, while my words reflect on me, yours reflect on you, and if you say they are based on a Christian perspective or the Christian faith, they may very well reflect on your religious community as well. Regardless, I will let them stand.

That said, please try to at least pick a name and not reply anonymously. If you cannot defend your opinions or your faith publicly, are either really that strong?

UPDATE: I will, however, remove obvious spam.

UPDATE #2: I will also remove anything that is solely bigoted garbage and nothing else.

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And one more point:

If the only source/authority you can use to back up your point is the bible, do not expect that argument to carry much weight with me. I do not believe the bible is the infallible word of god. And while I respect the teachings of Jesus Christ, I do not believe in or follow or respect the writings of the Old Testament or of Paul. I find both sources to be filled with hate, highly immoral and have little bearing on modern society. I believe human morality has moved past both.

So if your justification for your argument is either of those sources and nothing else, do not expect to sway my opinion. In fact, expect the opposite.

Just a few quotes

All will be wellAnd all will be wellAnd every kind of thing will be well.

- Julian of Norwich1373

Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.

- Marcus Aurelius

True manliness differs also from the false in its attitude to woman. Its knightly feeling makes it wish to defend her rights, to maintain her claims, to be her protector and advocate. False manliness wishes to show its superiority by treating women as inferiors. It flatters them, but it does not respect them. It fears their competition on equal levels, and wishes to keep them confined, not within walls, as in the Mohammedan regions, but behind the more subtle barriers of opinion, prejudice, and supposed feminine aptitudes. True manliness holds out the hand to woman, and says, ” Do whatever you are able to do; whatever God meant you to do. Neither you nor I can tell what that is till all artificial barriers are removed, and you have full opportunity to try.”

- James Freeman Clarke, 1886

It's the awareness of the worth of the gentle arts that counts, the ability to see that the feminists of the 1970's (and '80's) were misguided when they thought that teaching young girls to devalue domesticity constituted progress.

- Jane Brocket, The Gentle Art of Domesticity, pg 11

Look through the Hubble telescope if you want to see something awe inspiring. Don't look through a blood-stained old myth.

- Christopher Hitchens, spoken in a debate with the Rev. Al Sharpton, at the New York Public Library, May 7, 2007

And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Or how wilt thou say to thy brother, Let me pull out the mote out of thine eye; and, behold, a beam is in thine own eye? Thou hypocrite, first cast out the beam out of thine own eye; and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of thy brother's eye."- Matthew 7:3-5 KJV

You lot seem to specialize in missing the point. What you seem not to understand is that most of us on the left don’t give two tosses about where and when grown-ups touch genitals with other adults - it is holier-than-thou hypocrisies we are so allergic to.

- Someone calling himself John McKeeThe bible did not arrive by fax from heaven.

- Canon Martyn PercyBeware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves.

- Matthew 7:15"I already knew Pastor Ledbetter’s position. He held that women’s duties consisted of covering their heads, their mouths, and their casserole dishes, and I’d done all three about as long as I wanted to.”

– from Miss Julia Speaks Her Mind by Ann B. RossThe concept of a Hitler in heaven if he was saved, and a Ghandi in hell if he wasn't, is morally repugnant.

- Someone calling himself TaliesanOn Modesty....

Unto the pure all things are pure: but unto them that are defiled and unbelieving is nothing pure; but even their mind and conscience is defiled.

-Titus 1:15 (KJV)I was just telling ____ you are the most absolutely, quintessentially Puritan woman I have *ever* met. In good ways. Strong, intelligent, having faith on your own terms and expressing it in your own ways, practical and pragmatic, unselfish, unfond of scenes or wild excesses, and for you house and farm is altar. And on a night like tonight when I'm all woogie brain it's especially awesome

.-K, and one of the best compliments I have ever received.I like paying taxes. With them I buy civilization.

- Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes"I prayed for twenty years but received no answer until I prayed with my legs."- Frederick DouglasWe're not looking to build moral, successful children. We're looking to build Christians.

If God is willing to prevent evil, but not able?Then he is not omnipotent.If he is able, but not willing?Then he is malevolent.If he is both able and willing?Then whence cometh evil?If he is neither able nor willing?Then why call him God?

- Epicurus (33 A. D)

We (atheists) do think there have to be rules, a social contract, that helps tie together the diverse people of our culture and permits civilized interactions between us. The difference is that we believe those rules should be developed by humane principles that recognize the equality and interdependence of all people, rather than being rules contrived by priests to perpetuate their power by inventing arbitrary ultimatums from imaginary superbeings.

- P. Z. Meyers

The crust is delicious, but the cranberry tartlet is not as filling as I imagined it would be.

Stress comes from dissonance. When two things in your mind can’t be resolved and you start thinking you’re going to be stuck with the incongruity forever, you stress.

But, as much as our minds and our hearts encourage us to believe the fault goes to our will or our lack of industry — rather than our thinking and cognition — the true cure for stress is to cut the Gordian Knot. To change your mind about at least one thing you think you’re not allowed to change your mind about.

You alter the game when you re-write the rules.

- Merlin Mann on stress

I didn't spend all those years playing Dungeons and Dragons and not learn a little something about courage.

- Blane on the X-Files

If you accept yourself as you are, then you’re undermining the effort of those poor suckers who are trying to fit in.

- Kate Harding on Fat Acceptance (and what might go a long way toward explaining a lot.)